


Learning to Breathe

by SheDrabbles_butitsalie_ (ShaShirRa)



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: A lil' bit heavy, Dagur is still crazy but not evil?, Except by fans, Guys I know it's a 'kids show' but these characters have issues that aren't ever addressed, It's mostly Bromance?, Little snippets of how I'm justifying characters, Look I just love the little weirdo okay, More than slight canon divergence, Slice of Life, Slight Canon Divergence, Some Stoick POV, Yes that means Stoick, alright, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-01 07:17:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20254297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShaShirRa/pseuds/SheDrabbles_butitsalie_
Summary: Life is complicated, often messy, and never truly kind. Hiccup Haddock knows this well -and is startled when everything he believed gets turned on its head and unceremoniously dumped. He's trying to get over his own fears and learn to breathe.(Some snippets into the life of Hiccup before the Red Death is killed, and then after. Likely going to a two-part one-shot, because it's too long right now. Some Stoick POV)





	1. overcome your demons (and slap your angels)

It was no secret that Stoick the Vast forgot how to love the day his wife was taken. Nor was it a secret that even looking at his son -who was too small, too erratic, too willing to make _peace_\- made the mans heart clench _painfully_ in his wide chest.

Stoick could not fathom how he was supposed to be a father to this child, who looked like his Valka and had his head in the clouds. He was a _Viking_ -more, he was _Chief_\- and rather than deal with the ache in his heart when he saw his boy, _rather than try_, he found himself turning away, turning towards what he understood.

He understood _Chiefing_. He understood standing strong for his people. He did not understand fatherhood. It didn’t help that Hiccup got into things, trying to be helpful - Only _six_, Gods bless him, and trying to lift an Axe. His attempts always started admirably and ended annoying- and as a result, things fell apart.

He yelled at the boy more than he praised him -and that made his gut churn when he least expected it, that old wound in his heart squeezing all over again with the child’s crestfallen look.

He came to associate that clenching feeling with shame. He wasn’t ever sure if the shame was directed at himself or Hiccup, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. It got to be too much, that feeling, especially since the few times he took Hiccup out to start his training, the boy went hunting for trolls. _Trolls!_ He’d finally asked his boy why he was so determined to find these trolls, and the response …

_“It’s a‘cause they steal your socks Dad! But only the left ones! Do you know why it’s only the left ones? Gobber doesn’t.” _

The _response_, the way he’d smiled a crooked smile that was all Valka . . . He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t train his son to fight -not because the boy _couldn’t_ learn. Because Stoick wanted him _nowhere near _the demons that had taken his mother.

He knew then, he wasn’t the best father, but by the Gods, no demons would be taking his son. He dropped the boy in front of Gobber that very afternoon. The eccentric man he called his battle brother had been decrying Stoick’s behavior and saying he needed to do _something_ to move past Valka.

_(He couldn’t. There was no moving on after her. There was no living without the other half of his heart-beat.) _

Stoick had sternly told his oldest friend Hiccup would be starting as his apprentice. That his son would learn the Smithy life, not a warriors one, and had dared the other man to deny him. His friend had only shaken his shaggy, twisting mustache at Stoick and quietly responded.

_“ ’Tis won change a’ting, Stoick. ‘Tis ‘aint the way ta healin’, an ya know it.”_

His friend had turned away then, gently -or as gently as Gobber was able- taking Hiccup into his forge and loudly declaring he’d have the boy a master smith in no time, so long as the lad focused.

_(That day was also the last day he could remember his boy smiling at him in that way, all crooked happiness and open affection. But he never thought of that. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He had told Val he didn’t know how to be a father. _

** _“I’ll teach you, silly man.” _ **

_She’d whispered, smiling that smile. He’d believed her until he couldn’t anymore, because she couldn’t now. The dead couldn’t teach anyone anything.)_

* * *

Hiccup could count on one hand the number of good memories he had of his father -more specifically, the number of good memories he had of his father _interacting_ with him positively. It had been somewhat of a shock, to come to the realization that his father didn’t treat him like a son. Stoick the Vast, Chief Haddock of Berk’s Hairy Hooligans, would call him _son_, sure. But it always felt like a curtsey title.

Gobber, more often than not, was the person Hiccup thought of when he thought of _father_.

_Gobber_ was there to help him tend injuries -and to try and pry out how he’d gotten so injured. _Gobber_ was the one that taught him things (he’d unfortunately taken it upon himself to teach Hiccup about marriage rites and foreign customs, things you were supposed to say or do with visiting chiefs, and of course Forge work.)

_Gobber_ was the one that listened -at least partially- to Hiccup’s ideas, or things that frustrated him, and tried to help in his own weird way.

Hiccup lived in his father’s hall, but it didn’t feel like a home, not like the Forge did. Not like Gobber felt like family. Every attempt he made to make his birth father proud, every time he tried to help, the tribe as a whole reminded him that his help wasn’t appreciated, nor was it desired.

That was the public message anyway -privately, other boys in the tribe made sure he knew how they felt about his help. Even if he hadn’t been the one to destroy something or start the destruction of something, the blame was usually shoved to him. At this point in his life, he’d given up trying to tell his dad something wasn’t his fault -because, to his father, it was _always_ his fault.

With a whole tribe of people saying it was, how could he disagree? You couldn’t, at least not honorably. Not without Hiccup having to reveal all his secrets -and he could never ever live through the shame of _that_.

Maybe that isolation was why he’d find himself away from the village as often as he was in the Forge. Maybe that was why he knew the island as well as all the secret corners of the village. Maybe that was why he stood in front of the Night Fury now, stunned by disbelief.

He had thought … had been so sure … but to see the proof that _The Mangler_ worked, that he had done something other than forge-work _right_ ...

“This … this fixes everything!” he exclaimed softly, stumbling forward.

The beast was still, trussed up in the bola like a grand hunting prize. Excitement bubbled, overrode the weight that usually settled over his shoulders and stayed. Snotlout said he wasn’t a Viking, because Vikings, _real_ Vikings, didn’t hide in a forge.

They fought against dragons, participated in helping during the raids, and Hiccup wasn’t allowed that. His father made sure of it. His father had declared that Hiccup would never be able to fight the beasts, so it was best if he helped Gobber, did something _useful_. Hiccup had been starting to believe him.

_It’s not true,_ a tiny voice reminded him, _Gobber said he was decent at swordsmanship -but terrible at Axe-manship and swinging a hammer to harm._ He shoved that voice aside -it only ever made him hope, only to crush him when he failed.

Sure, Gobber had taught Hiccup some basic forms, and Hiccup made sure to practice -far from the village, and never ever where his father could see- but that didn’t matter.

To the tribe, he was a clumsy, gangly, _disappointing_ fishbone of a boy that was more annoying than helpful. But this. This! The elation was so strong now, he could forget the weight from before had ever existed.

“I have brought down this mighty beast!” He declared, ridding that bubbling feeling until he felt as if he stood on the very top of Raven Point, overlooking Berk. He shifted until he could prop a foot on the dragon’s foreleg, _soaring_ on that feeling. Then the dragon moved.

A draconic growl as it twitched and Hiccup was pushed back, his heart beating a thousand times faster than it should. His back hit a large, jutting boulder, thin limbs flailing, and still, his feet stumbled forward as if pulled by hidden strings. He heard now what he hadn’t noticed before.

The dragon’s heavy, pained breathing, repetitive and deceptively calm.

He drew his dagger forward again, loosely in front of his torso. Suddenly cold feet inched forward, his gaze on its chest and drifting upwards … to find it’s green, slited eyes watching him. He hadn’t been expecting that after the ruin left in its wake. Hadn't expected it to be awake, had been hoping the fall would kill it.

Looking at those eyes, aware and _knowing_ … he tried to steel himself, regain some of that feeling from before. He took deep breaths, begging the uneven pound in his chest to still.

“I’m going to kill you dragon.” He said slowly, not truly knowing why he spoke, “I’m going to cut out your heart and take it to my father.” He finished, trying to sound sure of himself, trying to convince himself.

“I’m a Viking.”

He whispered the last, then looked again to the dragon. It stared back, almost seeming to challenge that statement.

**_“_**_I’m a Viking!_**_”_** He cried, indignant and defiant all in one, raising his arms with intent.

He was no longer sure who he was trying to convince. His eyes closed of their own volition, his mind tried to make his arms drop … and the next time he looked at the dragon, it was resigned. It looked weak and terrified and no matter how tightly he shut his eyes, he couldn’t get that image out of his mind.

That was something he recognized anytime he accidentally caught his own reflection. That fear was something he _knew_.

_I’m no Viking. I never was._ That small little voice again. He looked over the damage he’d done, feeling all at once exhausted, as if those few minutes wearing the mantle of Viking had been too heavy. They had been. Every time he wore that mantle of pretend, he felt the same -as if he was putting on an invisible costume that weighed as much as his father’s Bear-skins.

“_I did this._” He whispered, half in disbelief, half in sufferance.

He had hurt another living creature so badly, it had been prepared to die. He started to step -_stumble_? He couldn’t tell anymore he felt so out of place- away from the downed figure. He stopped -because if he left it here, it would die. If he left it here, someone else would find it and kill it.

And that was simply not an idea he was willing to stomach. Hiccup did many stupid and crazy things. The stupidest, craziest thing by far was leaning down to cut his own ropes from the dragons hide.

_(It didn’t kill him as he half expected, but it did leave him even more jumpy than usual that night, the image of its fangs in his face burned into his brain. What most terrified him were its eyes. _

_Moss green and all too intelligent, all too knowing -he could believe the dragon had understood every word, that when it had pinned him to that rock, it had been saying _

_‘_ _I am a dragon. I am a dragon!’ _

_It didn’t help that his father’s declarations were fresh in his mind, firm and unyielding, and he hated the idea of putting that mantle of pretend back on. His Father never listened.) _

* * *

He found himself in the cove more often now. The cove was safe. The cove was away from the village -away from all those who once ignored him suddenly finding him fascinating. It also kept him away from Dogsbreath and Wartihog -both boys, a couple of years older than Hiccup, had taken it upon themselves to make sure that Hiccup didn’t ‘forget,’ his place with all his newfound fame.

Hiccup _wished_ everyone would just go back to ignoring him. Toothless warbled at him, a sound he knew was meant to catch his attention, and he turned from staring at the water to his friend, to find that the dragon had curled up beside him without him realizing. That would have startled him the first week. It was a comfort now.

_Sad? Why? No sad._ The words were imperfect, like a child learning the correct pronunciation, but Hiccup still understood.

He’d thought he was going _insane _the first time he'd thought Toothless had responded, until he’d broken into all the secret journals written by Bork, the ones that Gobber didn’t think they were ready for.

_(Hiccup only knew about them because Gobber forgot Hiccup didn't need to know everything, and he talked a lot while they worked.)_

Bork had written that in times long before the dragons and humans started hating each other, there had been some who _could_ understand _Dragonese_. Who heard words instead of screeches and roars.

Hiccup still wasn’t sure how _Bork_ knew that, but he was willing to take the explanation -especially since it had been buried so deep in the journals, barely a footnote, and written almost in gibberish that it had taken him a minute to understand the words.

“I can’t help it bud.” He whispered now, leaning against the shoulder his friend -_one of his only friends_\- offered and tucking himself against it slowly. “Sometimes the sadness comes, and I can’t make it _go away_.”

Toothless’s wing folded over him and he was proud when he didn’t flinch. It had taken all the short weeks they’d been together, but Hiccup had come to realize that Dragons -and Toothless _especially_\- gave tender affection freely. It was so much different to the rough pats or shoves -or worse- that he had received all his life to that point, he hadn’t understood why his friends’ affections hadn’t held any pain until Toothless had very slowly spelled it out for him.

Hiccup was his now, and Toothless did not hurt flock-mates. That was the same night he’d finally told Toothless why he had so many scars and bruises (Both of which the dragon had seen when they’d tumbled into the pond and Hiccup had needed to dry his clothing after) and he’d had to trick the dragon into staying in the cove by pretending to trip and hurt himself. Toothless had wanted very badly to make the ones who’d hurt him suffer.

_(He didn’t understand that just him wanting to do that, to stick up for Hiccup the Useless, Hiccup the Nuisance, had made all the pain fade to a dull, clenching ache that was both a happiness, and a general sense of overwhelmed-ness.) _

* * *

The few dragons that lived on the island and were sure to never be seen by the humans, started visiting the cove when Hiccup and Toothless were there. That had been after he’d met each of them on accident and offered help instead of hurting. They had helped him to catch extra fish for Toothless as thanks for some of the things he’d done.

He hadn’t been sure how to handle their presence at first -the constant coming and goings of the dragons might draw attention, and that couldn’t be allowed. But they were very discreet, or as discreet as they could be. Then they started what Hiccup could only refer to as _Dragon Piles_, and all reservations fell away.

It would start with him and Toothless settling down to talk -another night spent in the woods, but he didn’t mind. He was always _where he should_ be by the time the tribe was stirring – and then it would escalate.

The Terrors that had followed them from another secret cove would curl up on Hiccups lap, under his arms, and along his legs, and animatedly join in the conversation where they could.

The young Nightmare would settle down in front of Hiccup and curl her head so it draped over his lap. She rarely joined in the conversation, but she never left while Hiccup was awake. He got the feeling she was dealing with a heavy sadness, and them being so close was a comfort.

The single Timberjack on the island would carefully fold itself around them and form a tent of warmth. Hiccup, he felt no shame in admitting, finally understood what it meant to be wholly connected to others. He understood what it was to be loved in these moments -and couldn’t figure out how he could show everyone else the truth he’d learned.

Dragons weren’t the enemy. Something else must be going on, because he could not understand how supposed ‘demons,’ could treat him as if he were the most precious thing, made of finest clay, and then turn around and raid the tribe.

_(Curiously, he’d never seen the dragons that visited him and Toothless during those raids. He got the impression that the Timberjack had lived here his whole life, and the Nightmare had dropped hints that she had been there for only a short time. The Terrors were erratic in their speech, so he couldn't tell where they were from.)_

Toothless couldn’t seem to find the right words to explain, becoming distressed every time Hiccup asked -and the other dragons were the same. They knew why it happened, but apparently couldn’t translate that knowledge into words he could understand. That was alright.

Hiccup was good at coming up with plans. The problem with most of his plans was that they tended to blow up in his face. That was why he hadn’t yet done anything, spoken to anyone -not even _Gobber_. If he dropped even a hint that he’d been around a dragon and didn’t capture it or try to kill it, no one would react kindly, least of all Astrid.

_Astrid. _

Astrid Hofferson was becoming a _problem_. She was suspicious of his sudden and continued 'improvement.' She was angry that he claimed so much attention. She’d almost caught him the day before, almost managed to track him to the cove. He wished that she _especially_ would go back to ignoring him. That she would go back to trying to avenge her family's honor. 

Luckily, this problem was solved when he realized there was one place he could _let_ her track him. He’d already set up a training area in a small clearing in the opposite direction, complete with a wooden post for swordsmanship.

_ Before_ Toothless, that was where he’d spent his free afternoons, safe in the woods, away from the tribe. He made sure to wander in that direction now, and on days where he couldn’t shake her in the woods, that was where he ended up, spending a little time going through sword practice.

She never approached him there, even though he could tell she wanted to, and after a little while, he would wander into the woods again. He always managed to lose her the second time.

The problem with this pattern was that it would be winter soon, and there wouldn’t be as much forest to hide in. He wouldn’t be able to slip away as easily. Spending the nights in the cove would be more dangerous too -_Dragon Piles_ were warm, but he wasn’t sure they were _that_ warm, and a fire was simply out of the question.

That got his mind to thinking about how he would explain extra fishing during the winter. It was ignored now because there was still plenty of fish. He couldn’t keep Toothless well fed if there were people counting how many fish he took for himself and his father -_if_ his father came back.

_You could leave._ That small voice whispered, more confident now than it had been weeks before. _You could leave and take the flock with you. You could see the whole of the Archipelago. You could fly to the edge of the waters and look beyond._

_(He never found a solution to the problem winter presented, because that thought haunted him well into the night, filling his mind with **such dreams** he hated that he woke. _

_Those dreams, in turn, haunted his every step. He wanted to see. He wanted to know what the world looked like from dragon back. It became a craving in his soul he wasn’t sure he should quench.) _

* * *

The question still hadn’t been answered by the time his father came back. A small part of him was so very grateful his father was alive. A disconcertingly _louder_ part wasn’t sure how to handle the quiet hope in his father’s eyes while he talked about _killing dragons_.

Hiccup felt sick when he realized that there was no fixing this. There was no way his father looked at him and saw _him_. He felt so chilled by that knowledge he had given little attention to the conversation after, or the way he desperately walked away from his father’s presence.

_ (Weeks before, he would have given anything to have his father look at him like that. Now it made him sick, to think of everything he would have given, everything he would have betrayed.)_

The question of winter was still unanswered the next day, but it hardly mattered anymore with what _followed _his father's return.

Gothi choosing him.

_(Why would she do that? Didn’t she know he didn’t want this?)_

Astrid finally finding his cove.

_(Gods, he was too careless in his mad dash from the village. He never should have gone to the forge for the sword he’d crafted for himself. He should have gone straight from his house to the cove.)_

The flight. Astrid pressed to his back as she begged Toothless to stop. Weeks before her nearness would have sent his heart pounding. Now he was just afraid of everything she could destroy if she didn't understand. His friend’s refusal to be nice – according to him ‘_Because she was so rude!_’- and her eventual apology.

The quiet, beautiful moments after, where he could tell Astrid was beginning to _see_. Astrid was beginning to understand. And then they discovered the truth. They discovered the Queen.

_(He had never felt to enraged and afraid all at once. He kept seeing the Gronkle, sweet and silly, offering a sad, single fish. He could feel Toothless tremble, could hear the other dragons do the same. _

_After that head rose from the smoke, after their narrow escape, he wasn’t sure how he was ever going to convince his father that they could make peace.)_

The Honor Ceremony proved such a spectacular failure, his intentions nothing but smoke and dust. The hardest part was his father _disowning_ him. Not publicly -thank the Gods, he couldn’t handle it if the whole Tribe knew right away- but the fact remained.

He was no longer his father’s son. He was nothing in truth now. He had failed Toothless – and there was no way to stop what was coming that his ruined, bleeding heart could see.

_(What he wouldn’t give to be able to step back in time, to simply say good riddance to Astrid’s retreating figure. _

_To round up his dragon friends and lead them away. To follow through with the dreams that still haunted him.) _

* * *

Fire and burning, the crack and heave of ships being torn to shreds like too-thin parchment. Toothless, looking so very worried in front of him. He couldn’t get the chains off, no matter how hard he pried. If he had his _tools_, if he’d managed to see what they used to bind him _before_!

He was quietly hissing every curse he’d ever heard Gobber utter, his attention focused on Toothless. When the ship gave way beneath them, he was startled, but he followed his friend down, tried to rip the chains apart.

Not for the first time in his life, he wished he had been built more like his dad. Toothless was trying to help as best he could, but there was only so much either could do. His grip began to slip and darkness started to fuzz around him.

_(Hiccup would gladly die trying to save him. He would have given up everything to save him when his tribe had pinned him down before. When they were chaining him to the ship at the docks. _

_When his father had walked away and chosen to kill himself and everyone with him rather than listen.)_

When his chest tried to collapse inwards, he thought that would be it. Finding himself sputtering on the beach, his father diving back into the waters …he wasn’t sure how to feel.

Then the water rushed upwards and Toothless was dropping his father on the beach, bounding away to a rising boulder to check the battle progress with the Queen.

_(He was willing to forgive his father then, because he’d saved Toothless. _

_Hiccup would forgive him most things for that alone. Loosing Toothless would have killed him faster than his father’s words in the Great Hall ever could have.)_

There was fire and slicing wind. Toothless desperately trying to gain altitude, though his tailfin was burning up. He turned and all he saw was a heavy, bludgeon of a tail. It came fast and quick, and then he knew darkness.

_(He saw his life in that split-second between inevitable death and desperate denial. _

_Lonely, with a rare few moments of unbridled happiness before Toothless. Full and bursting with love and belonging after Toothless. Then he felt pain. _

_So, so much pain. Burning and searing warmth, and jarring movement. Then there was nothing.)_

* * *

Stoick the Vast had thought he knew what it was to hurt. He thought he understood sadness. He had been a fool. It felt as if his heart had fully shattered now, that it lay in crumbled heaps somewhere near his stomach, making everything around it squished and achy.

Finding out Hiccup had befriended a demon, had discovered their nest and didn’t immediately tell his tribe. To think that he had been so near to one to ride it. He kept seeing Valka being carried away, over and over again. Kept seeing her smile crack and her face shatter to dust.

He’d regretted his words almost as soon as they’d left his lips. Had felt like breaking on the Great Hall steps. But he was a chief, and they finally, _finally_ had a chance to destroy the menace that had been plaguing them for three hundred years. He would deal with his son when he returned.

He was just glad what he’d said hadn’t been overheard by anyone else. It meant he could quietly revoke the statement -with stipulations. Hiccup would learn obedience and tribal honor, once and for all. It was time his son grew up and took responsibility.

_ Responsibility for what? What have you let him be responsible for?_ A small voice asked. _What have you given him to be loyal to? _He hated that voice.

_(It sounded like Valka, and she sounded disappointed. He hated even the idea of disappointing her memory.)_

He’d felt sure when they sailed into the fog. He’d felt sure as they stood on that beach making their plan. He’d felt sure when the mountain cracked open and dragons came pouring out like liquid. He was less sure when they all flew away in a panic, their frantic wingbeats clearly stating that they wanted to be _anywhere but where they were._

That made Stoick unsure. Even mindless beasts fought for their dens. Shouldn’t these demons do what they always had? Shouldn’t they be fighting tooth and claw, spewing fire at the Vikings on their beach? He lost some -_most_\- of his confidence moments later when a dragon the size of a small mountain burst from the rocks.

He felt vulnerable then. He felt panicked. What was it Hiccup had said? He had said something about how they shouldn’t go. He had said something about what this dragon, this Queen, was doing. _He should have listened. _

_Gods. He should have listened. _

He watched half of their ships catch fire and begin to sink. Those that didn’t would soon be trampled, he was sure. He sent his people away, because by the Gods, he would not let anyone else die here. This was his fault.

_He never should have come. _

He wasn’t surprised when Gobber refused to leave him, when his friend volunteered to die at his side. He hoped Odin would enjoy his friends’ company as much as Stoick always had. He was certain that all his _shame_, all his _mistakes_, were stacked against him ever entering the venerated halls of Valhalla. It was nothing less than he deserved.

He was shocked to the bone to see his son and the other trainees ride in on dragon back, effectively distracting the beast while their Tribe fled. He was mute with shock. Gobber was right. Hiccup was damned stubborn. Boar-headed. His son.

_His son. _

Gods. That was his_ son_ on dragon back, fighting a dragon half the size of a mountain … jumping onto a flaming ship with no thought for his own safety. Trying to pry the dragon -his dragon- from its chains.

Even as the mast fell, and the ship caught flame, his son refused to leave the dragon he had risked everything for. Stoick was running before he realized his limbs were moving, desperate to get to his boy, to save him from himself. The ship cracked. Went under. Hiccup didn’t surface.

Of course he didn’t. Stoick wouldn’t have either, until he’d accomplished his goal. Stoick dove as soon as he hit the waters edge. Hiccup was down there, trying to rip the chains from his struggling dragon. He pulled his son back, sure the boy would drown any second.

He deposited his boy on the beach, then turned right back around. If he were his boy, he would have been right back in the water as soon as he caught his breath -there would be no need for that. Stoick had made this mess. _Stoick had brought them to this point. He would fix it. _

He caught Hiccup as he mounted the Night Fury. Apologized before his son -_his stubborn boy, who looked so much like Valka and was just as determined as her_\- took his Night Fury and they entered the battle beyond. He still couldn’t believe it, but he would not fight it. Not after his pride and arrogance had almost cost him his whole tribe. His son was the one that was saving them. _His son_ was the one that had the _means_ and the _will_ to save them.

_He was so proud. _

And then he wasn’t -because he was _terrified_. Hiccup was falling. He could see it from his point on the beach, and again he was running as the fires imploded and the earth shook. His son and his dragon were swallowed by the inferno, but not before Stoick felt his world shatter.

_(Not again. Odin, please. Not my son too.)_

He could have searched the smoke and rubble for hours or minutes, he wasn’t sure. His voice was beginning to crack, his external armor beginning to break. He felt a fine sheen over his eyes, and he knew he would cry with no care for who watched if he didn’t find his boy.

The smoke parted and he caught a flash of deepest black, the shape too large to be Hiccup, but the perfect size to be the boy’s dragon. Again, he ran without realizing he had started to. For one terrible moment, he thought his son was safe.

He wasn’t. The Saddle was in tatters, the tail rigging a wreck that had once been useful.

Hiccup was nowhere to be seen. Not even a body. There was nothing but smoke and ash, and a grey, drab world left in his son's wake. Stoick the Vast, Chief of the Hairy Hooligans, the Man Who Survived the Fires, felt_ drained_. It was as if the mantle he wore had gained extra weight.

_(It did. Getting your own child killed felt very heavy. _

_Stoick knew he would never acclimate to the new, knowing heaviness. _

_That was alright. He deserved it.) _

He could only sit in silence for several moments, and when the creature stirred, it looked at him with _knowing_. He suddenly realized that if dragons could speak, this one would be telling him exactly what he already knew.

_ “You did this,”_ He would begin, quietly, because loudness would be wrong right now, _“you got your son killed because you couldn’t listen, because you refused to see what he was trying to show you. You did this to yourself. You did this to him.” _

Stoick agreed with every unspoken word. He couldn’t begin to make it better, but he could try and start fixing the things he could. Hiccup was … His son might have been dining in Valhalla, but Stoick wouldn’t let the boy’s desire for peace die with him. He would start to fix what he’d broken.

It would take time to gather all the pieces, he knew, but he would be patient. He owned Hiccup that much.

_“I’m so sorry.”_ He whispered, and the dragons entire demeanor seemed to change.

It’s narrowed eyes dilated slightly, his flat snout twitching, as if in thought, before he carefully unfolded his wings … revealing Hiccup within. Bloodied and bruised, but there, and for that alone, he would have kissed the beast.

_(Stoick never knew you could be both elated and terrified at the same time. He did not even care if his tears fell openly now, he gathered his son and when he heard his heart still beating, he could have flown without the need for wings. _

_Even seeing his boys ruined, mangled leg couldn’t destroy the euphoria that he still lived. _

_He knew he would remember the moments before to his last breath and was only grateful for that. Never again would he ignore his sons’ words. Never again would he let it get this far.)_


	2. things here look familiar (but fuzzy all the same)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Quietly drops chapter and walks away*  
I have no excuses

He woke to faint, fuzzy pain, and the tingle that said he’d been laying down too long. Gods, if he’d overslept, Gobber would lecture him until nightfall. He heard a warbling coo he was familiar with, and wakefulness came that much quicker as he struggled to open his eyes. Toothless had his head, from chin to neck, firmly planted near Hiccups' right cheek. Elation was quick to fill his heart close to bursting, until he recognized the rafters overhead, the crackle of fire beyond.

“Oh Gods. I’m in my father’s Hall. You’re in my father’s Hall! Why are you in my father’s Hall?”

Hiccup hissed the words, struggling to sit up -the act itself made difficult both by faint soreness and sleeping limbs, and Toothless insistently licking him neck to forehead. The dragon seemed quite determined to ignore his orders.

“Stop, stop! That doesn’t wash off!”

_You’re awake! No dying!_ The rough response in Dragonese was just barely perceptible for Hiccup, and didn’t excuse his friend any.

“Yes, now stop! Toothless!”

Trying to stave off a determined dragon while sitting was made so much harder by the painful pins and needles in his arms. Everything came rushing back to him shortly after the dragon happily bound away from him, jumping onto one of the rafters and peeking down at him with a gummy –slightly smug– smile.

The flight to the Nest. Releasing Toothless –no, almost drowning and watching his father release Toothless. Fighting the Queen. The flames; the tail that knocked him from the saddle and straight into the inferno below; the fall. He wasn’t sure what to do with Toothless being in the Chiefs Hall. He wasn’t sure what he should be expecting. His chest constricted with sudden panic, and his breathing turned jagged. Toothless jumped down and cooed, nuzzling up against him, huffing into his tunic, and reminding Hiccup to breathe.

Deep breaths brother. Deep breaths. Please. He spent several minutes curled over Toothless's head, hugging as much as he could reach, desperately trying to suck in air. Toothless repeated his plea until the Dragonese became a kind of guttural chant. He focused on the sounds coming from Toothless. The crackle-pop of the fire pit in the room. The distant smell of wood smoke and -strangely enough- fish.

By the time he convinced himself not to panic, he had sound reasoning for things maybe being not as catastrophic as they could be. Toothless was apparently healthy and well-fed. He saw no evidence of chains or locks. There was no distant screaming or anything to indicate that things were not alright.

(_Deep down, these things just made him more nervous._)

He tossed aside his covers as Toothless shifted away, desperate and willing to just … figure out what came next. His father had technically rescinded his disownment, but Hiccup wasn’t willing to blindly trust that. Not when it still hurt so bad, he felt like he should be bleeding. His limbs still felt like they were coming back to painful life, making movement odd. He shifted again, his eyes fastening on the door. He had a goal.

As he moved to slip out of bed, he froze, feeling something not right with his painfully awake limbs. He managed to look away from the front door, and down. To where his whole leg used to be. He was … well, shocked, and a little ashamed. He would lose a leg in the middle of the air.

(Why he felt that flash of shame, he couldn’t say, as no one in the Tribe seemed to treat losing a limb as anything less than ordinary. Just look at Gobber. Anyone that tried to tell him having fewer limbs made him weak got bludgeoned and then laughed at.)

Toothless shifted in front of the bed, cooing encouragingly at him, and his spirits lifted slowly, a little determination making his shoulders perk up. Toothless was right. He could do this. He’d done plenty of things that seemed hard. He’d caught a Night Fury –then almost immediately let it go. He’d tamed a dragon. Ridden on it’s back. Learned unknown secrets. He’d helped his dragon take down a monster other Vikings ran from. He could do this. He was brave.

(He was brave, wasn’t he?)

He shifted fully so that his still whole leg landed solidly on the floor. It felt … weird, to know both of his feet should be touching the ground. His mind kept screeching to a halt when he realized he couldn’t feel that ground with his left foot. He saw now what he hadn’t minutes before when he’d raked his eyes over the room. Propped next to the foot of the bed was a small peg, with an oddly shaped metal foot attached to a wood cup lined in leather. There were a couple rolled bundles next to it that looked like socks. Hiccup -having grown up around a man that did so repeatedly- knew that he would have to put one of those on before he even dreamed of attaching the prosthetic.

He felt a little disconnected from his body as he scooted down the bed and managed to grab one of the socks without falling off it. Toothless assisted by curiously rolling a couple towards him, clearly unsure as to why he needed them, but willing to help. Smiling wanly at his friend, he rolled his pants leg up and stopped short. His stump was raw and red looking. Slightly jagged around the edges. It hurt to look at –and he was suddenly so grateful he’d been unconscious for …well he wasn’t sure how long.

(But it had to be some time, because his stump was raw looking and a little scabbed over, and that didn’t happen overnight.)

He rolled the sock on slowly, still tender flesh tingling a little, but when that was the only sensation, he rolled his shoulders and eyed the prosthetic. Attaching it was a little more difficult that Gobber made it look –but it was also so like the times he’d help his Mentor get his peg off a weather swollen stump. Sending a quick blessing up to the Gods for giving him Gobber, he managed to wiggle the peg on the way he thought it went. Making sure it stayed attached was slightly more complicated.

He’d found that it wasn’t just lined with leather but had a harness-like strap attached to the inside of the lining, meant to be buckled around the area above his knee after it was attached. Everything fit like a glove –and for the minute that he let himself think about it, he realized that more than one person had to have seen him in a state of undress. More than one person had seen the terrible mess that had become his leg. More than one person may have seen his scars.

(He beat the panic back this time, but it still bubbled there, under the surface, threatening to overwhelm the instant he wasn’t looking.)

He tucked and rolled his pants so that they ended just below the beginning of the wooden cup, then he kept it folded there with a thin rope he tied tightly around it. He wasn’t sure if it would stay, but at least everything appeared in order. Suddenly, there wasn’t anything left to do with his hands. Unexpectedly, he felt so shaken. He didn’t know how to process everything he’d just done, and while he took in quick catches of breath, Toothless scooted back and watched him expectantly, green eyes flickering to his leg then him several times.

The quite chuff he gave almost said, ‘Well, you put it on. Now what?’ It was unpredictably helpful. Smiling weakly again, Hiccup shook his head, then took in a few more calming breaths and eyed his feet –foot. He wouldn’t ever know if he could do it unless he tried. He couldn’t try unless he stopped stalling and just went for it. It was probably one of the hardest ‘just do it,’ moments he’d experienced yet –right up there with the time he’d decided to try and shoot down a Night Fury.

Toothless watched with warbling coos as Hiccup slowly, shakily, made to stand. The first attempt had him reeling backwards, straight back onto the bed. His second went a little better, at least enough that he kept his balance and determinedly took a step forward. His legs –Feet? Foot? He wasn’t sure what the correct terminology should be– gave out underneath him unexpectedly. The only thing that saved his face from the ground was Toothless. His friend’s head was there to catch him and offer support as Hiccup got himself righted. Offering his head as a sort of crutch, Toothless warbled another encouragement that had Hiccup giving his dragon a relieved, grateful smile. Again, he took a hesitant step forward, this time with slightly more success. His gait felt –and probably looked– more like a hobble, but at least he was moving.

The front door opened abruptly, and he froze, his head swinging up from his feet –Foot! – to find his father’s wide, incredulous eyes on him. Time seemed to freeze on him, and Toothless chose that moment to carefully slip his head out from underneath the boy’s hand. Slight panic welled in Hiccups' chest, and only increased when his father slowly walked in and shut the heavy door behind him. His mind was racing for something to do, something to say, when his father made a sudden movement –and he found himself pressed up in a terribly firm hug.

“Hiccup. Yer awake. What’re ya doing on tha leg?” His father asked breathlessly, carefully releasing him and then ushering him back into bed.

Hiccup followed more out of shock than compliance. His father’s hug may have been firm, but it had also been tender. His voice still stern, but there had been something in his tone that had changed. He couldn’t put his finger on it, and he wasn’t sure fighting laying back down would be wise. Not with his father looking so …fluttery. So anxious. Hiccup couldn’t remember a time in his life that his father looked anxious. Stoick the Vast simply didn’t do anxious.

“Been out for ‘bout six weeks. Gothi says that’s normal, that she expected ya to be sleepin’ a couple more.” he looked entirely relived that Hiccup was awake regardless, dragging a short stool up to the side of the bed, “Lucky I’m the one that came to check on ye an’ no her. She’d be smacking ya with her staff if she’d seen ya.”

His father looked down and around, almost seeming startled, before he turned and eyed a bundle by the door Toothless was nosing. He got up again just as Hiccup was processing his words, hurrying to collect whatever it was. Hiccup carefully, slowly, cleared his throat. His father was crossing into the kitchen stores, placing the bundle there and dragging down a loaf of bread. He broke into the stores of dried figs he bartered from Johann, placing them on a plate next to the bread.

“Um…Dad? What -what happened? After? You know, after I –” He couldn’t bring himself to finish that sentence, half afraid of the answer, and half afraid that there would be no answer.

His father paused in poking through the jars of preserves to glance over at him. Hiccup couldn’t read the expression on his face and was made suddenly nervous by the intensity of his father’s stare. Slowly, he plucked up a jar without looking, and moved back to the bed, setting the plate down slowly in front of Hiccup and motioning to it. Hiccup startled slightly, but gratefully dug in. He hadn’t realized until he’d seen the bread just how hungry he felt. His father waited until he’d taken several bites –Hiccup had enough time to find this odd, because his father rarely displayed patience– and started speaking after he had opened the jar brought over to find berry preserves.

“After I finally found where ye and Toothless had fallen, we had ta rush getting ya back home. You were …your injuries were no' good. Astrid offered to fly ye on that Nadder –I think she’s named it now, but I canna remember what it is. After ye and she had disappeared into the sky, I had to corral everyone else into the remaining boats. Those dragons that didn’t flee too far followed us back. By the time I reached home, Gothi already had to make the decision to take yer leg.”

He paused here, his eyes following Hiccup’s hands as he ate, that same something in his eyes that made his expression unreadable. Hiccup paused, his seventh fig half-way to his lips. His mouth felt unexpectedly dry.

“Son, I –son. I have done wrong by you.” Hiccup felt, not for the first time, as if his world had just tilted slightly and left him confused.

“Dad?” His voice came out quiet, feeling entirely unsure of where this discussion was going. He was also extremely confused. Stoick held up a hand slowly, shaking his head, clearing his throat softly. His usually booming voice sounded just subtly wrong.

“I have to say this Hiccup. It must be voiced, and by the Gods, I swear it won’t be the last time. I’m so sorry Hiccup. I have done you wrong as your father, on many counts. I will not ask for forgiveness -I’ll earn that. I promise ye, from now on, I will strive to be a better father.” There was an odd note to his voice, as if there was some subtext that Hiccup was missing. Before he could question it, Stoick cleared his throat and awkwardly shrugged his shoulders, nodding his head several times before he stood, taking the empty plate and setting it aside.

“Come, there’s much for you to see.”

The words were just gruff enough that Hiccup could tell sharing was over –and despite all the hundreds of questions vying for space in his mind, he let the subject go. The spark of panic that lived in his chest was waiting to ignite, and he didn’t want to panic in front of his father. Instead, he begrudgingly accepted the crutches offered to him –he’d completely missed them, tucked under the bed as they had been– and watched his father open the door for Toothless to bound out of.

(There was too much to see –they had finagled a dragon feeding post, and constructed perches that kept breaking, and a multitude of other things Hiccup couldn’t begin to piece together. Astrid stuck close to him, as did his father and Gobber, each of them taking turns making sure he kept up on his crutches.

He’d tried to tell them he wanted to use the prosthetic, but Gothi was there to wave her staff threateningly.

He didn’t use the prosthetic foot, but occasionally getting to lean on Astrid or either of his father figures wasn’t as bad as it could be. He even managed not to panic each time they touched him –he saved all the panic for that night, in the deepest hour, where he could do so somewhat privately.

Toothless curled around him and cooed assurances the entire time.)

* * *

Hiccup idly skipped another stone, listening to Toothless and Crookedfang wrestle and argue behind him. The young Timberjack had grown over the last few months, and he had a distinct advantage in his new size. Hiccup wondered almost distantly if he'd be able to wobble over to Toothless's tree and snatch his prosthetic, but a twinge from the limb in question squashed those thoughts. Probably best if he didn't try anyway. The Terrors had been left to guard it, and they were taking the job seriously. (They had a patrol ring and everything going. It was surprisingly well organized.)

His stump hurt. It ached and twinged, and overall, just made it impossible for Hiccup to forget he was missing a fourth of his left leg. Astrid had spent the entirety of the day before fussing over it -and him- while his dad and Gobber all-to-casually ended up where-ever Hiccup happened to hobble to, asking his opinion on things, making sure he didn't need to get up if he could help it.

(They were hovering, and no matter how happy-scared-baffled he was by this, they wouldn't stop. It was too much.)

Hiccup had snuck out on Toothless early, before even his father was awake, and come to the Cove. The Cove was safe, and it was full of dragons that called him friend (and brother, son, nephew.) They had piled on top of him after Toothless landed, the best of dragon piles after the most trying of weeks.

(Only later did he realize it was partially a dirty trick, just a distraction while SharpShot and his crafty claws took off Hiccups prosthetic and stole it. He had pretended to be upset, but he was actually relived. Dragon hovering was much better than human hovering, because they didn't fuss as much. They were just ...There.)

Now, he sat undisturbed, watching the water again, because it provided something convenient to look at. His father had put Old Mildew on trial at the beginning of the week. Hiccup had found proof that the man had been trying to start a riot over the dragons that were slowly making this island their nest, trying to repair the damage they'd done under the Queen's rule. Things had been ... shaky. The odd dragon that had felt like somehow the humans were as much to blame as the Queen had acted out -then been swiftly corrected by Toothless or one of the other trainee's dragons- which had only given Mildew fuel for his fire. Dogsbreath and Wartihog had gotten behind the man, because he was saying the same things he always had, but louder.

(Things like, 'you should have drowned that boy when he was born too early and too weak.' or 'the slimy little nuisance has been trying to destroy us for years and now you're just letting him!'

Hiccup had been doing a lot of peacekeeping. First, he'd had to stop Toothless from lighting Mildew on fire and keeping him that way. Then he'd had to beg his father not to use the old man as his training dummy. Then he'd had to make sure Gobber was too busy in the smithy to bludgeon the old man. Then he'd had to turn around and get Hookfang to sit on Astrid for a couple of hours, so that she didn't do all the above. Stoic had settled on putting the man in jail and on trial for his actions, but he'd had to be persuaded that route via Hiccup and everyone on the council. It had taken Gothi, their link to the Gods, wagging a finger at their chief before he let himself be persuaded.)

As for Dogsbreath and Wartihog, well ... they'd managed to both hang themselves and shame Hiccup, in one fell swoop. He wasn't sure exactly how it had happened. He'd only come onto the scene for the last half of the argument, having spent the better portion of an hour calming down Astrid, who wasn't happy, but marching next to him all the same. The two boys, while arguing for Mildew's way of thinking, had shouted (loudly, in full view and hearing of the entire village) that the adults shouldn't be arguing in Hiccups favor because he was a 'weak, scarred little thing that couldn't fight off a dog, much less a dragon.' Hiccup had felt both mortified and awed that they would bring that up, much less to his father, but the implications didn't hit until Stoic spoke. 

"How do ye know tha'?" He'd asked -growled- looking like a predator that had found prey. The boys had stuttered out a bunch of nonsense, cut short by his father bellowing. 

"How do ye know me boy is scarred?" The silence that had stretched had spoken for itself as the adults around them looked between Hiccup (scrawny, silly, uncoordinated Hiccup, who could pick up a hammer and sword, but had no training in defense) and the two older boys (bigger and bulkier, they'd been properly trained, and knew how to use a knife) and the slow realization spread. Hiccup had walked away. He hadn't answered any questions -except later, privately, where it was just him and his father and Gobber, where they wouldn't judge his quiet tears and twitchy hands- had simply walked into his father's hall and refused to come out.

(Astrid and Gobber and his father and Gothi all kept saying he had nothing to be ashamed of, that the fault lay with Dogsbreath and Wartihog. Hiccup knew that logically, but that didn't stop the shame from coming, or the panic attacks from slapping him upside the head.)

Now ... Now Hiccup sat and watched the water, and tried to let the panic come and go, tried to teach himself how to breathe through it, instead of relying on Toothless to help him. As much as he loved his dragon brother knowing just how to help, he couldn't exactly rely on the dragon's methods in public. He had to be able to get through these panics without breaking down.

(Or fainting because he wasn't breathing enough, or because he was breathing too hard.)

A nudge at his elbow, and Hiccup startled out of trying to count his heartbeats, looked over his shoulder to find SummerWing had settled down behind him. The Nightmare looked better these days, as if she was slowly setting her sorrows behind her, but much like Hiccup, she still had her bad days. Today looked to be one of them. Her brilliantly yellow and orange wings seemed dull around the edges.

"Hey there Summer. Come here often?" Hiccup teased, shifting so that his back was propped against a boulder, and Summer obligingly settled her long head into his lap, her tired huff answer enough. If she didn't even feel up for laughing, it must be a really bad day. Hiccup could relate. He wordlessly scratched at the hard to reach places around her horns and along her spine, providing her with the comfort she'd wordless asked for. A few minutes later, Toothless and Crookedfang joined them, followed shortly by SharpShot and his mob. It was the best kind of dragon pile, because it was one where he was giving comfort, and not just taking it.

(He'd come to learn that this was what a nest was supposed to be. An extended family that looked after each other, not just for basic needs, but with everything. Joy and sorrow, health and illness. A good nest was, after all, only as strong as the weakest flier. Nothing further was said for the duration of the pile, and Hiccup finally found that peace he'd sorely needed.)

* * *

Dagur showing up was a surprise. Dagur showing up as the new chief of the Berserkers was even more startling. He'd given very little warning -only a messenger bird, sent to them a scant day and a half before they were to arrive- which made Stoick nervous. It made Hiccup apprehensive. The older boy had always been going on and on about one day finding a Skrill. If he was here now, after he'd probably heard about the dragon situation on Berk from Johann ... Hiccup could feel the headache forming.

As fellow Heirs went, Dagur hadn’t been the worst. Insane? Yes, probably, but Hiccup was going to blame the other boy’s tendency towards tossing himself head-first into fights. He could be a little touchy, and a lot throw-y.

(Knives, axes, maces, anything that could be picked up was something that would be thrown, in a fit. The last time he’d seen Dagur, he’d been talking about the leads they had to where his sister was. Hiccup had never met the girl. She’d been lost during a raid, where Dagur had been ordered to put her in a raft and take her to safety. Dagur hadn’t made it onto the raft – had been set upon by a Nightmare before he could, and for that, Hiccup knew the other Heir – Chief now – blamed himself.)

“Look, we just . . . need to keep the dragons out of his reach until he agrees to play by the rules. And if he laughs, you should be aware that he needs to have them gone over again, because a laughing Dagur is a Dagur that’s ignoring you.” Hiccup reiterated nervously, watching as the other teens all watched him back.

His relationship with them was . . . odd. He wouldn’t call them friends. Not just yet. But they were no longer his enemies. Of them, Fishlegs and Astrid were the closest to becoming friends with him, and that was because they had, in their own ways, already apologized for past treatment, and promised to make it up.

(So far, they had done that and more. He wasn’t sure where he’d be, without Astrid’s steady presence. He was just grateful that after a solid month, he’d grown so acclimated to her, his previous crush had settled down until it was just jittery back-ground noise.)

“Okay, but question!” Tuffnut shouted, holding up a hand eagerly.

Ruff shoved him hard for the eagerness, cackling even as her twin kept speaking.

“What if, and this is just hypothetical, he were to get his hands on a dragon? What would happen?” Tuff asked, face mischievous.

Hiccup gave them a bland look, while Snotlout and Fish groaned.

“I guess that all depends on his mood. If he’s feeling good? He’d end up trying to take the dragon for his own. If he’s feeling less charitable? He might try to kill it, just to see what we do. Do not,” here he paused to give the pale twins a serious look, “let him near the dragons until we have a blood-sworn-oath.”

Before any more responses could be given, a horn sounded.

Dagur had arrived.


End file.
